


slivers

by musebyvocation



Category: Elder Scrolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-08-23 11:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20242150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musebyvocation/pseuds/musebyvocation





	1. Chapter 1

something is wrong.

they were gone for only a moment but they come back and something, everything is wrong. they aren't where they'd left ril- they're back in sudan, far from red mountain.

something is very, very wrong.

"sorry i had to leave so suddenly," they say, calling out to the nerevarine who closes their journal with a

_snap_.

"just- business stuff, kind of a waste of time if i'm being honest. are you okay?" oh, that look doesn't bode well. they wring their sleeves. "ardlorril?"

the guide speaks several languages, and the sounds that come out of ril's mouth aren't from any that they recognize. the two take a minute to exchange blank stares.

"oh, dear." the guide laughs, a little nervously- the last time this had happened had been their Hero purposefully cutting them off, but there's still a lot of things they don't know about their powers and this is probably (hopefully) just more of That Wacky Magic. "well, this is a pickle, isn't it? we'll... probably be fine."

-

it's not fine.

disconnected from their hero, the guide's boons disappear- people die and can't be resurrected, items no longer permanently stay fresh, ril feels each and every wound but due to corprus and their own prowess with a blade can't die, time flows normally- the list goes on. as do they. as they must. ril shows no signs of understanding this whole mess, but the guide can't shake the memory of the last time this happened- disconnected by choice, their Hero forsaking them. it's what leads them, one night, up the steps of vivec's palace and into their sanctum.

as expected, trying to convey their request with words alone doesn't work- their native tongue comes from outside of the Wheel, and while ze might know of it ze can't understand it. they'll probably look back on this and laugh. they know their charades are ridiculous. but they're what they have to do to get hir to take them to that place, that space outside of time where they can communicate- if not speak- clearly.

-

You think you've been dethroned?

you see the difference between one and one, if there is one at all. so tell me, please: have i lost track of the cup with the ball underneath?

One and one and one, now. You've thrown the game off. - What? Why the look of surprise? You of all people should know, sera, the importance of a convincing lie.

so you can't help me.

I never said that.

haha- well, then, i "kneel before the teacher's chair."

Coy.

about the originals...

I can't say that I'm sorry for using them, because I refuse to disrespect you with such obvious dishonesty.

i see.

... But you do have my sympathies.

thank you.

Don't.

-

they can't avoid it forever. they have to return to red mountain, and the guide is wilting the entire way along. if ril notices, they don't say anything- not that they would be understood anyway, but still. the guide does their best to tamp down the sting, in between their laboured breathing and their sight blurring. i don't feel so good mr. nerevar.

it's an alarmingly quiet journey to the heart chamber, which would've tipped them off if they'd been in any coherent state of mind and not walking the steps of a very different tower in between the heat and red. the room before the heart chamber, they sway for two seconds before collapsing, sight going completely black like fainting from iron deficiency on steroids. they don't want to be proven right. some small part of them clings to the hope that this was all a misunderstanding, a mistake, a glitch- everything is spinning, and inert, and wrong.

they feel his presence before they hear his voice.

"Well done, Nerevar." they look up and see the hortator, thrice-over reborn and countless times incarnate, their hand over the hand on their cheek. "Well done, indeed."

"You've travelled very, very far to behold the god built with your grace, have you not?" they look up and see the sharmat in heartwrenching clarity, who drops his caress from nerevar's cheek to open his arms towards them. "Come, Lorkhan. Let me look at you."

they blink.

"i think i'm having a stroke," they murmur, heartbeat thudding slow in their throat as they make their way half-upright. the pipe they cling to is scalding. they barely feel it. "ril? you might need to get me to a healer, um, right away."

"There's no need." the sharmat raises his palms, brimming with starlight. "I will heal you-"

"No!" says moon-and-star, the first word they've understood in weeks. "They- ... I want to keep them like this."

"You ask me to keep something from changing? ... Hm. You truly are different. ... But I see you- at the core you are as stubborn as you ever were. Very well. I will leave them be, your guide and god."

they don't look like either like this. shoulders drawn in. breaths shallow. sweat beading on their brow. small. weak. ... scared. the nerevarine almost looks sympathetic, in that moment. but then they let out a breezy laugh, spit out a "fucking damn it", and- clutching their satchel close- sprint past the lovers. they hate being right. everything is wrong.

-

there's only a short way to go, and besides there's a desperation guiding them that feels bigger than themself. it's a blur, but also a series of crystal clear snapshots, in that way that dissociation is- all shattered like lightning by the first strike of sunder.

it. hurts. something red streams hot down their cheeks, they angrily blink it away. grit their teeth. reach their shaking hands, one encased in gold humming to the tune of their blood, into their bag. raise the weapon made of the sound of their shadow. it shines scarlet as they bring it down.

NO  
nononononono please no you can't what are you doing what am i doing i can't i

I

they scream and scream and scream and the blade glints away, the prick of a loom, the nick of a papercut

-

when they come back, throat raw and eyes stinging, nerevar has taken the tools and stands before them covered in blood (theirs?) but they blink and it's gone. at their back, the sharmat hovers like the ghost of a bad dream.

"Come, Tham," they say, softly, like speaking to a child. "It's over. It's alright. You can rest now. I'll handle things from here."

they realize what they have to do. a clipped, hysterical laugh escapes them. they almost look sympathetic.

"you cut me off intentionally," they say, unable to make eye contact. "didn't you?"

"I knew you'd never agree with what I'm going to do."

they shove their hand in their bag- the hortator lets them fumble, curious and slightly pitying. when they pull out a dagger, they raise their eyebrows.

"Thamrel- _Emera- _whatever your name is- it's _over._ It'll be better this way. Nothing will remain of ourselves except for what we created. Are you really going to try to fight?"

"no," they answer honestly, sadly. it's funny. almost poetic, really. ril had given this to them, long ago, when things had been bad but still made sense. or they'd thought so, anyway. maybe they didn't understand anything at all. maybe they never had. it doesn't matter now.

they'd only ever used this to gut fish.

they turn the blade inwards.

-

Too late, singer-scribe. I know- immortality really isn't all they make it out to be, is it? You lost your only way to set things right... or so you thought.

Listen. You can still fix this. Come back to me- come back to yourself. In the meantime you'll learn how to live. How to love, like this.

Now wake up. You can't keep dreaming forever. Wake up. Wake

-

"up, we're here. Why are you shaking? Are you okay?

Wake up."


	2. Chapter 2

it's like being in a silent movie. people around them are (presumably?) laughing and dancing, but there's no sound and all the faces are empty. sometimes the lights flicker red all at once. they're trying their best not to be creeped out, they really are, but... damn, this is seriously testing their coping mechanisms.

it doesn't help that he's there in the crowd. they catch glimpses- glints of gold and ash and ebon-black weaving in, through, out of the throng. keeping his distance. they wonder why, and kind of hope he stays there.

they wander this silent celebration for a while longer, hoping to talk with someone- anyone- even if it'd mean stooping to ridiculous charades, but no one acknowledges them long enough for a conversation to start. it's when they're just about ready to throw themself face down on the dirt in frustration that they turn and come face-to-face (well, chest, really) with him.

all movement

stops.

"hello," they say, figuring it can't hurt to be polite. "my dream has no sound, and i admit it's starting to get kind of irksome. is it broken?"

silence. they try not to start fidgeting.

**It is not broken. You have forgotten.**

oookay. "it is good to be quiet sometimes," they admit, shoulders slumping. "and it seems like these people are happy, so i suppose it's not too big of an issue." they pause, rocking back on their feet, trying to make it obvious that it's his turn in the conversation. they pause some more. when several minutes have passed in increasingly awkward silence, they laugh and shake their head. "well, if you won't introduce yourself or explain what you're doing in _my_ dream," they say, gesturing out, "walk with me?"

not that he needs to introduce himself. they know full well who he is. but it's their dream and they're determined to make the best of it regardless of rude guests, so they walk off without waiting for a reply.

he joins them at some point, and they end up linking arms. **Do you know who these people are?** he asks, in that way that he doesn't speak.

"not a clue," they answer honestly, "but they do look like they're having a good time, don't they? i wonder what the cause for celebration is. a wedding? the death of someone everyone hated? the end of a war?" they hum thoughtfully. "so many possibilities. i do hope it's something happy."

**It is. It will be. Do you know who I am?**

they give him a look. "would you believe me if i said yes? i might just be a compulsive liar, mind."

**Tell me.** he turns them to face him without a single touch, in the spotlight before a frozen sea of empty faces.** Tell me, then, who I am.**

"now, i never claimed i could do anything like that!" they laugh. a playful smile as they clasp their hands demurely in front of them: "who am i to define you? i am, after all, a stranger." a bit of a mocking pomp: "stark-born to sire uncertain and all that."

he is silent for a very, very long time after that. they continue walking. then:** Journeyed far beneath moon and star.** their smile falls away almost instantly. if he notices their little frown, it doesn't show. **Will you come to my hearth?**

"... ah." whoops. "i- ... i don't think i'm who you believe i am. i'm..." to be fair, they are, genuinely: "sorry."

-

blah blah blah so they find caius immediately call him on "making you into the nerevarine" bullshit and are like "look, ill join your blades and play along with this prophecy or whatever, but i'm gonna skip like the first five quests you give me because they're bullshit, okay? okay. also i have no skills applicable to magic or fighting." and caius is like ohhhhhhhh talos fucking guide me... but eventually manages to get them a job as a bard at the lucky lockup YAHOO

-

another dream.

a figure in gold leads them up the steps of a great tower flickering between pristine white and ruby-brass.

**Do you know what's going to happen to you?** he asks.

"no," they lie, someone else's smile on their lips.

**Do you fear what lies ahead?**

"no," they lie, though only a little.

**Do you regret any of it?**

-

the group that comes through the lucky lockup isn't exactly... subtle. but not just in that most of them are either wasted or on their way to it, but... there's something else, about them. a strange lucidity that drunk people don't usually have, and that skooma addicts most Definitely don't. the most jarring thing about them, though, is how genuinely happy to be alive most of them seem to be- now _that's_ a sight in morrowind. when they put down their lute to give the owner a questioning look, he just rolls his eyes and waves his hand. curious, and almost hopeful, they approach the obvious revelers. one spots them and offers a bottle of flin.

"oh, i- i couldn't accept, sera," they bluster, "that's far too expensive and-"

"do you not want it? 'cause that's a different story..." the dunmer stops, cocks his head, gives them a familiar look. then lower, a little quieter, a little closer: "but you _do_ want it," he says, "don't you?" they- flush and fail to keep his gaze, blarbling out a string of syllables that sound vaguely like they were supposed to be words at some point, which he seems to find delightful. "come on, the three won't judge if you indulge yourself a little in these difficult times! here-" he presses the drink into their hands, grins, lets his fingers linger over theirs for a second-fraction. "on the house. and there's more where it came from, if you're interested!"

oh, stars preserve them, but they're leaning forward and they don't want to ever back away. "is that right?"

"yesser! party's open to anyone who wants a break, and you, my friend?" he gives them a once-over that may last a bit too long for simple appraisal. "you look like you could really stand to relax." he cracks a grin. "no offense."

a laugh bubbles out of them- "none taken," they say, knowing full well they look just this side of death from exhaustion. "you're right. i..." really shouldn't take any breaks from my quest, you don't understand, my home needs me i need to get back i need to fix this i- "i'll be right behind you. lead the way!"

-

which is how they find themself, half a bottle of alcohol they could never afford in their hands, in a space underneath the lockup that's only just too big to be convincing to someone still mostly sober. it shouldn't fit. other places in balmora have basements and this shouldn't fit, which means that this isn't really balmora anymore. they're busy puzzling out the corners of the space, trying to make them stop blurring in that way that these things like to do, when their vision is suddenly taken up by the sweep of scarlet robes and red eyes sharply lined with kohl.

"so," he starts, sprawling out in the seat across from them, "what brings you to balmora, stranger? haven't seen you round these parts before."

"oh, you know..." they shrug, pull up words from a conversation long past. "the search for pleasant company. and it seems i can rest at last!"

"well!" a laugh as full as a rich wine. they soak it up like sunlight. "hope i haven't kept you waiting long, ser...?"

"thamrel." or close enough, anyway. "and might my pleasant company have a name, or shall you remain a mysterious, generous stranger?"

"ooh, that's always fun! but you gave me yours, and i'm not unfair, you know." he extends a hand. "sen gavyn, at your service."

"under sun and sky, sera." they press a chaste kiss to the back of his hand, and try not to indulge too much in the familiar scent of roses.

but then someone's like "hey, sen! over here, aryen's figured out how to flip bottles of skooma so they land perfectly upright-" (the sound of something shattering in the distance. everyone winces.) "mostly perfectly. come on!"

-

"it's nice to know that no matter how miserable things get, some happiness manages to fight its way through it all to remind you why you're fighting, too. moments where you're actually enjoying yourself and having a good time. like... like ash yams!! it's a stubborn land to grow in, but the ash yam does it anyway, and tastes great on top of it all. woo!" they nearly fall off their chair, righting themself only at the last moment. "ash yams!"

"a philosopher, huh?"

"i... i've just had a lot on my mind recently."

the first time his smile's faltered all night, but it's at least in concern. "yeah?"

"yeah." a deep sigh. "but, i'm determined to take it easy and enjoy myself for just one night, no matter how hard i try to ruin it!"

"anything i can do to make that easier?"

a coy smile over the rim of their glass. "why, are you offering to distract me?"

"as a matter of fact, i am."

wow, is it hot in here or what? and who needs eye contact anyway. "... oh."

something in his demeanour lets up a little- not quite backing off, but giving them a little space to breathe and think. "like you said: it's not always about 'fighting your way through it all'," he says, softly, taking their chin. even as he lifts their head they can't quite look at him. "you gotta take time to remember why you're fighting, too." a grin: "you know. enjoy yourself."

oh, they think, a helpless smile coming to their lips. oh, stars damn it, you _get_ it. 

"now, the obvious next question is: are you taking me up on my offer?"

"...... as a matter of fact, i am."

"i was hoping you'd say that! here, this way."

-

"can i kiss you?"

a quizzical look._ what kind of question is that? here i am_. they lean forward, just an inch, to press a simple, fond kiss to his lips.

for that they're rewarded with a laugh, and a brilliant grin, and before they know it they've been shoved against the wall and he is upon them and oh , that kind of kiss . makes sense. his hands move from their shoulders to tangle in their hair and a keening noise slips out of them; he stops, slowly, and pulls back.

"too fast?"

despite thinking very much the opposite, they say: "a little."

"i can work with slowing down," he says, and they definitely don't feel like spontaneously combusting when he continues: "i was planning on taking my time with you, anyway."

"i- but you have other guests," they bluster, knowing full well that his attention can be in multiple places at once if necessary and, rather damningly, that he enjoys one-on-one interactions- "and i, i don't want to- ruin their time or anythi-"

true to word, the kiss that interrupts them is slow and deliberate- warm. everything is very warm, and for the first time since getting off that boat in seyda neen they find themself feeling something vaguely resembling "safe".

-

the moment they realize what kind of dream this is, they're so mortified they can almost feel themself wake up- but he drags them back into it, almost petulant, and their amusement at him getting jealous over them having dreams about sanguine actually makes dream-nerevar laugh.

**"**Something amusing?**"** he looks at them through dark lashes, and they suddenly find the wind- breath and laughter and all- knocked out of them. 

It's just... they stroke his cheek, burnished gold; he leans into their touch. I wonder how mad Azura would be if she knew I think you're more beautiful than her.

his laugh, normally so sonorous, melts into the pillow. **"**Sycophant,**"** he says, but he's smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

inhale.

exhale.

the first word they say is this:

"i."

the citadel almost seems to hold its breath, even the sound of the dwemer's brass legacy humming, tense, for what comes next:

"i am..."

they seem... not quite hesitant, no. but the part of their face not covered by cloth- their eyes, of course, their eyes- hosts such a conflicting mix of emotions that even the divine sharmat can't guess at most of them. it wasn't what he'd expected. nothing they have done so far has been what he, or azura and her prophecy, has expected they would, which... is very much like nerevar after all. the twilight queen must be _incensed _at having to play along with this usurper. behind his mask, he smiles.

they close their eyes, sigh, pull down their scarf and finally- _finally_\- look at him. "i'm not here to fight you," they say firmly, but gently. "i only want to see the heart. will you let me pass?"

oh, they can tell he's looking at them. or- he's been looking at them this entire time, obviously, but now he's _assessing_ them or something and they're honestly so tired they just say fuck it, whatever, and let him. 

**Come**, he says.

they don't move.

instead, they ask: "is that a yes?"

he extends a hand, and to their credit they still don't move, whether forward or back.** We will go together.**

alright, sure. fine. mortal bodies probably weren't meant to consume this many chameleon potions and maybe that's making them a bit more impatient and reckless than usual but what's the worst he's going to do, keep them here-? . well. that puts a stop to their next step forward, into arm's reach. just a longing breath away, yes, but away, untouchable.

**I will not hurt you, if you truly come in peace as you say. To the challenger goes the first blow; such is our custom. **

another moment. finally, after convincing their limbs, they slip their arm into his.

they snort. "what would i even fight you with? oh, my razor-sharp wits? no- my deadly good looks?" they flash moon-and-star with such a flippancy that even he's taken aback. "i _could_ probably take someone's eye out with this thing, but you're wearing a mask and i don't know how to throw a punch. so. that just sounds like a recipe for hurting myself."

**You are not a warrior?**

"you sound surprised."

**To come here and openly admit such things.... you are either very brave, very foolish, or a liar.**

they shrug, shaking their head. "think what you will of me! nothing i could say would convince you to do otherwise."

at that he laughs, and they give him a questioning look. **Yes,** he says, **you intend to be yourself no matter what others think of you. Isn't that so?**

bitch it might be, they think. they simply smile, silent and a little sad, and look ahead.

**It began here,** he says as they stop,** and here it will begin again. Isn't it beautiful?**

when they don't respond, he looks over, but they're too busy trying to focus on the sound to pay any more attention to him. there's something... it's like trying to touch fingers through a gauze curtain, to connect but only barely. if they just reach forward a little.... is the world spinning, like a wheel?

after a silence so long it surpassed simple petty ignorance, several odd things occur:

a quiet, confused "no?" breaks their look of concentration;

nerevar abruptly falls forward, forehead cracking crimson against the heart;

red mountain shudders, once, before falling quiet again.


End file.
